, earth-grimed thing in, and laid it in the king's room.
Then they made their piles of wood, pouring the store of oil over them,
and setting bottles of spirit near, that the flames having cracked the
bottles, might gain fresh fuel. To Sapt it seemed now as if they played
some foolish game that was to end with the playing, now as if they
obeyed some mysterious power which kept its great purpose hidden from
its instruments. Mr. Rassendyll's servant moved and arranged and ordered
all as deftly as he folded his master's clothes or stropped his master's
razor. Old Sapt stopped him once as he went by.

"Don't think me a mad fool, because I talk of the fate," he said, almost
anxiously.

"Not I, sir," answered James, "I know nothing of that. But I like to be
ready."

"It would be a thing!" muttered Sapt.

The mockery, real or assumed, in which they had begun their work, had
vanished now. If they were not serious, they played at seriousness. If
they entertained no intention such as their acts seemed to indicate,
they could no longer deny that they had cherished a hope. They shrank,
or at least Sapt shrank, from setting such a ball rolling; but they
longed for the fate that would give it a kick, and they made smooth the
incline down which it, when thus impelled, was to run. When they had
finished their task and sat down again opposite to one another in the
little front room, the whole scheme was ready, the preparations were
made, all was in train; they waited only for that impulse from chance or
fate which was to turn the servant's story into reality and action.
And when the thing was done, Sapt's coolness, so rarely upset, yet so
completely beaten by the force of that wild idea, came back to him. He
lit his pipe again and lay back in his chair, puffing freely, with a
meditative look on his face.

"It's two o'clock, sir," said James. "Something should have happened
before now in Strelsau."

"Ah, but what?" asked the constable.

Suddenly breaking on their ears came a loud knock at the door. Absorbed
in their own thoughts, they had not noticed two men riding up to the
lodge. The visitors wore the green and gold of the king's huntsmen;
the one who had knocked was Simon, the chief huntsman, and brother of
Herbert, who lay dead in the little room inside.

"Rather dangerous!" muttered the Constable of Zenda as he hurried to the
door, James following him.

Simon was astonished when Sapt opened the door.

"Beg pardon, Consta